


philtatos | most beloved

by cantfoolajoker (lichmutual)



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Shinjiro Gets A New Persona, Suicidal Thoughts (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22398856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lichmutual/pseuds/cantfoolajoker
Summary: Akihiko died the night of October 4th. Shinjiro grieves the afternoon of October 5th.
Relationships: Aragaki Shinjiro/Sanada Akihiko
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	philtatos | most beloved

**Author's Note:**

> listen. i can't explain myself. i wrote this out of curiosity and now i am sad.

The moment had happened too fast.

Shinjiro had not been expecting to feel anything except the tension of his body and the sensation of pressure when he shielded Ken and heard the gunshot. He was focused on protecting the kid, not allowing him to lose his life over something that Shinjiro considered his fault. Their bodies connected to the floor, and Shinjiro realized he felt fine, though the understanding of why hit when he heard a body slump to the floor behind them.

There was a range of voices yelling and footsteps rapidly approaching, and Shinjiro picked himself off of Ken, his leg still aching and sore after the bullet he took to the leg. Ken was wide-eyed in shock, unreacting, unmoving, and Shinjiro didn’t blame him, only shifting to help him sit up.

Shinjiro wished he hadn’t, as when he turned around, his eyes finally met the person who did take the bullet.

“Aki,” he hissed, dragging himself and his injured leg over to where Akihiko was laying on the ground. He was on his back looking up at the sky, and Shinjiro could see the way his classic crisp and clean white shirt was stained with his blood like it had been cleanly dipped in dye.

He sat and gently shifted Akihiko into his lap, ignoring the other team members, his only focus on Akihiko at that moment. Akihiko was still breathing, though it was shallow, barely stable. Shinjiro couldn’t even think about where he was shot and what the bullet could have hit if it’d entered his chest.

“Hey, Shinji,” Akihiko greeted him, voice light, and his head tilted a bit to gaze up at Shinjiro like he’d just woken up.

Shinjiro couldn’t focus on the others talking around him, the panic of wondering if Akihiko could get to a hospital in time. He instead grasped Akihiko’s hand tightly, clinging to the warmth he still felt that his cold body yearned for.

“Why?” was the only thing Shinjiro could ask, hissing out the word.

Akihiko made a soft noise, almost a hum. “You have a lot to live for,” he told him, smiling gently despite the situation. “I’ll say hi to Miki for you.”

“Aki, don’t you dare say that,” Shinjiro told him quickly, gripping his hand tighter, but he felt Akihiko’s hand go slack in his as his body finally relaxed, a state that was rare to see Akihiko in— a state he would be in forever.

Ken’s wail loudly echoed along the walls of the alleyway that night.

* * *

  
  


Shinjiro didn’t remember the last time he’d been to school. He’d found other places to linger and fill the gaps in when ditching so he wouldn’t be questioned why he wasn’t in class, though the likelihood of someone questioning an individual who looked as punk as he did was nearly non-existent anyway. 

He didn’t want to show his face during the actual assembly for Akihiko’s death. His body tightened at the thought, unable to deal with the mere idea of being around so many people. Shinjiro didn’t want to be bitter, but he could only guess how long it would be before all the other normal students forgot about Akihiko.

They all saw one side of Akihiko. The captain of the boxing team Akihiko. The guy with a fan club Akihiko. A person who had so much ahead of him.

S.E.E.S. saw more of Akihiko than most people could ever hope to. They saw Akihiko as a responsible figure, though also someone who wasn’t above antics and having fun in his own way. He looked after everyone because he cared, because he wanted to protect those he cared about and refused to step down from that daunting challenge.

Shinjiro had seen every side of Akihiko there was to offer, though the same could be said in turn of Akihiko to Shinjiro. They considered themselves opposites, though Mitsuru would have vouched for the inverse and said they were too similar.

He knew what made Akihiko tick, and what buttons to push when he wanted to rile him up. He knew about his sister— he’d been there with him when the fire happened— and he supported him as best as a kid could who had also lost one of his only friends. He knew when Akihiko liked to do his morning runs and where his trail would take him and when he would be back. His favorite foods and the look on his face when he ate something too sweet for his liking.

It was odd, feeling like his other half was now gone. He’d never hear Akihiko scolding him with a firm and disappointed “Shinji” whenever he was doing something they both knew he shouldn’t have been doing. He wouldn’t be able to bang on the wall separating their rooms and tell him to shut up and stop being so loud. He wouldn’t have to tell Akihiko  _ no, I wasn’t asking you about what to make, and I’m not making pancakes so quit asking _ ever again.

Shinjiro hauled himself up onto the stage in the empty auditorium, only flinching when he put pressure on his still injured leg. Every little sound felt intense, the sound echoing off the walls and the sound of his breathing filling his ears. The noises helped ground him though, not allowing him to get too caught up in his thoughts as he stood in front of the table and his eyes met with the image of Akihiko’s school identification photo sitting framed amongst a variety of flowers.

His fist connected with the top of the table harshly.

“Aki, you idiot,” Shinjiro hissed, squeezing his eyes shut and putting his head down. “You idiot. You dumbass. You— You—”

He’d taught himself to withhold emotion as best as he could from a young age. He made himself someone to rely on. He made himself someone to fear. He was as cold as a stone pillar, unwavering against whatever was thrown at him.

That was why he hated it when he felt the hot tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.

Shinjiro’s sobs filled the auditorium, halfway collapsing onto his good knee while he tried not to further injure his other leg. He could hear the sound of Akihiko’s voice in his mind scolding him for doing something that’d get him more hurt. He pretended he didn’t like the sound of his voice, that Akihiko talked too much for his liking, but he could never have been sick of his voice. Not when he risked never hearing it ever again.

His body felt like it was on fire, a heat in him he’d never felt before, not since he’d started taking the suppressors. It was enough that he pulled his beanie off and let his messy hair free before he ditched his coat to feel the cool air on his forearms from the short cut of his turtleneck.

Shinjiro knelt there like that for a while, recollecting himself as he allowed himself to cry, a state he only would have allowed Akihiko to see if he had to pick someone to witness him like this.

_ “Are you feeling better now?” _

The voice he heard was soft, almost nurturing. Shinjiro didn’t feel alarmed at hearing it. Rather, he felt soothed by the tone and allowed himself to relax more.

“I guess,” he answered in reply, sounding defeated. The voice chuckled, a gentle echo added to it.

_ “It’s troubling losing a loved one, no? One second they’re there and the next they’re gone— a vicious cycle that is life and death.” _

Shinjiro inhaled through his stuffy nose and shifted to settle his injured leg down, allowing himself to sit in front of the flower altar and gaze up at Akihiko’s picture. The smile he held in the snapshot wasn’t the same as the one he gave him the night before, not genuine.

“Who are you?” Shinjiro finally asked.

_ “I am not typically known by myself, for I share my history with my companion.” _

“You can say that again,” Shinjiro muttered, which earned an amused laugh from the voice, although Shinjiro could feel the edge of pity in it.

_ “You may refer to me as Patroclus,”  _ he answered, and Shinjiro closed his eyes, allowing the comfort to wash over him at the sound of his name.

He was different from Castor; usually, summoning Castor felt cold. It felt like Shinjiro was choking, or like his heart was about to leap from his chest. Summoning Castor was never fun nor was it flashy: it was painful and  _ wrong _ , like Shinjiro was never meant to have him. And he knew he wasn’t meant to have him, yet that would never take back the experiments that had forced him to gain a Persona. 

He used to believe he had to live with Castor, an acceptance of the shadow overhanging his life. The concept that Castor could kill him at any moment scared him more than he ever wanted to admit, which was why he took the Persona suppressors in the first place. He decided from the first pill that he would rather die on his terms. 

And his terms had been in place for the night of October 4th. Shinjiro was a coward in fear of the future, ready to find an end at the hands of a child.

Yet here he was, alive on the afternoon of October 5th.

_ “Your partner may not wish to see you weep,” _ Patroclus lamented.

“Yeah, yeah, he wouldn’t,” Shinjiro responded, shaking his head as he stood up carefully. 

His leg still hurt, but his body felt better. He felt healthier, more alive than he ever had before. It was like summoning forth Patroclus had burned out the feeling of death that his suppressors had inflicted.

Shinjiro looked at the coat gripped tight in his hands. He didn’t really need it anymore if he wasn’t always cold, did he?

That night Shinjiro left his coat on Akihiko’s bed before returning to his own, a phrase written on the tag of the clothing that stood out amongst the blacks and reds.

_ To Aki, most beloved. _


End file.
